


Starry-Eyed

by oswhine



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Christmas, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:29:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5387600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oswhine/pseuds/oswhine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - an alternative to Last Christmas where the Doctor needs no pushing to come back for Clara.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starry-Eyed

It was Christmas Eve, and the world was holding its breath. The stars seemed to be glowing brighter than usual that night, as if trying to prove their magic. Peace had descended on the world like a blanket of snow. 

But for Clara Oswald, peace was as far away as those shining stars watching from the sky. She had been abandoned by both the men she loved; one in death, the other, for a home lost and found. She couldn’t sleep, despite the sleeping pills she’d taken, her throat dry. She was restless, her legs tangled in the blanket. It had been so long since she’d seen anything wonderful. She was longing for something more than this, but at the same time, _all that_ seemed so far away, just a distant dream, coloured more brightly than the rest of her memories. 

Then she sat up, completely still, listening. _That sound_. She could feel it in her bones. It had only been a few months since she would have ran towards it, but now she was cautious, slipping her legs out of bed and tiptoeing down the hallway to the living room. Slowly, she pushed open the door. 

A dark figure stood in front of her Christmas tree. They’d plugged in the lights, so that it looked like it had fairies caught in its branches. There had been a time, too, not so long ago, when that sight would have made her breath catch in her throat. But she had seen so much, that it was like nothing. 

“Doctor?” 

He turned. She swallowed. His face looked more lined, his eyes more tired, than when she’d last seen him.

“Clara.” 

The world was hushed. It seemed like they were the only two people on Earth. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I came to see you. It’s Christmas, isn’t it?” He wasn’t looking at her, his eyes everywhere but hers. 

“But Gallifrey - shouldn’t you be at home? It is Christmas.” 

“I didn’t find Gallifrey.” 

“But you said - “ 

He finally met her eyes. “I lied.” 

She crossed her arms, let her hair fall in her face. “Danny’s dead. He never came back. I lied.” 

“Well, aren’t we a pair.” 

She gave him a small, sad smile. “We deserve each other. Didn’t you say that, once?” 

“Maybe. I never remember what I say. It’s never that important, in the end. Anyway, it’s Christmas! Wait ‘til you see what I have to show you, it’ll put this puny Christmas tree of yours to shame…” he turned and opened the door to the TARDIS, quietly humming in the corner of the room as if she were watching them. He looked back at Clara. “Well? Aren’t you coming?” 

He was right, she’d hesitated. But she just couldn’t say no, and followed him through the door. 

As soon as she was inside, the TARDIS burst into life, lights flashing like fireworks, and that sound, that sound that clutched at Clara’s heart. It enveloped her. 

“Where are we going?” She asked, and just asking the question thrilled her. She was _going_ again, flying toward the impossible, and even more than that: he had come back for her. It is them together, the way it should be, partners in crime, the dynamic duo. She smiled to herself as she watched him at work, pressing buttons, that ever-present frown on his face, even at Christmas. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his back. 

“I’ve missed this,” she murmured. 

In reply, he placed his hand over hers, over one of his hearts. She could feel it beating, as if she was holding it in her palm. 

“So, where _are_ we going?” She asked, breaking away and standing beside him, his equal, as she’d come to be. 

“Just you wait.” He smiled, a smile that had that much more weight for having known so much of the things that kill a smile. 

The TARDIS settled. They grinned at each other, savouring the moment, before walking out together, side by side. 

Clara gasped. Towering in front of them was a Christmas tree, a Christmas tree so tall that she couldn’t even see the top. It was at least as wide as a city block, and it was decorated with - it was decorated with real stars, Clara’d seen enough to know that, glowing powerfully inside glass globes. 

“Like it?” The Doctor asked, quietly taking her hand. 

“It’s amazing! What is it? How do they capture the stars like that?” 

“It’s called the Great Tree of Xynn, roughly translated. In this galaxy, stars are sentient beings, and the beings that live here worship them. They devote their whole lives to them; nothing is done if they think it would make the stars shine less bright. So, to thank them, once a year the stars decorate this tree for them for their annual festival, dedicated to the stars. And this tree, it’s older than even the stars. It’s been growing here longer than eternity.” 

Clara leaned into his arm. “This is the best Christmas ever,” she whispered. 

He looked down at her. “We’ve only just got here.”

“I know. It’s because I’m with you.” She squeezed his arm tighter. “And instead of sending me away, you’ve come to get me. Thank you.” 

“Don’t be silly, do you think I could even imagine spending Christmas without you, Clara Oswald?” 

There was a pause in which they both smiled, helplessly. In moments like this, everything they disliked about each other and every grudge they’d ever held dissolved, because they were happy, and they were together. 

“I think I was right,” the Doctor said eventually. 

“About what?” Clara asked. 

“We do deserve each other.” 

As he finished speaking the stars rose from their globes and Clara gasped as they gained height, going back into the sky, going home. She could hear a faint, celestial music coming from them like nothing she’d ever heard before. 

“They’re leaving.” She said. 

“Until next year.” 

“Are you going to leave too?” She asked, mouth dry, not daring to look at him. 

“Never again,” he said, and he took her in his arms and held her so close, as if if he held onto her tight enough she could never slip away from him. 

And she held him back.


End file.
